


Reaching For You (Don't Leave Me)

by undercoverwarlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, But it gets better in the second and third chapters, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Times, Hogwarts Sixth Year, I promise, I'm Sorry, M/M, Sad Ending, So much angst, So. Much. Angst, if the bathroom scene went differently, like oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercoverwarlock/pseuds/undercoverwarlock
Summary: He knew Malfoy was behind Katie Bell getting cursed. He knew he was a Death Eater, that he was up to something, he had to be. But then he heard it – sobbing. This was not what he had expected to find.-AKA what if Harry talked to Draco instead of fighting him in the infamous bathroom scene? Harry tries to help, Dumbledore secretly ships it, and Draco makes a difficult choice.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *sigh* charactersbelongtoJKRowlingwhoisstillaTERFbuthereweare

He knew Malfoy was behind Katie Bell getting cursed. He knew he was a Death Eater, that he was up to something, he had to be. Hermione and Ron from the beginning thought he was nuts for even considering it, as if recruiting child soldiers in this war was unheard of, as if the last couple of years hadn’t happened. But he _knew_.

So when he saw Malfoy run out of the Great Hall, he made his excuses to Katie Bell, finally back from St. Mungo’s, and hurried off to follow him. This was it, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest, anger thrumming in his bloodstream. He was going to confront him, once and for all. When he lost sight of Malfoy, he pulled out the Marauder’s Map, and found his little dot hiding out in one of the boy’s bathrooms, of all places, right next to Moaning Myrtle. He set off, planning his speech, his list of charges and accusations, his fists clenched, his book bag bouncing against his hip as he ran. This was it.

He reached the doorway to the boy’s bathroom, ready to burst in on whatever nefarious plot Malfoy was up to. But then he heard it – sobbing. Not Moaning Myrtle’s wails, but the wretched sobs of someone who had lost everything. He opened the door, trying to make as little noise as possible, and listened.

“There, there,” he heard Myrtle say in her sorrowful tone, “it’s all right. I can help…”

“No.” Malfoy’s voice was barely recognisable, twisted and choked as it was. “No one can help me! I have to do this on my own! I have to….” But what Malfoy had to do was cut off by his own sobs. Harry pushed the door open a bit more, leaning in to look.

Malfoy stood, his shoulders hunched and shaking, bracing himself against one of the porcelain sinks. He could just make out Myrtle’s spectral form as she tried to reach out a consoling hand. He hadn’t realised how thin Malfoy had gotten – from where he stood, he could see how his usually well-tailored clothes were baggy and ill-fitting, the belt cinched tight around his narrow hips, his shirt hanging off his shoulders. His sobs racked his body violently, threatening to tear him apart. Harry bit his lip. His rage gone, he could only stand there, uncertain and ashamed. This was not what he had expected to find.

He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. “Malfoy?” he called, barely raising his voice to be heard. Malfoy’s head had snapped up at the sound of the door, and at Harry’s voice he spun around, his wand raised. Tears ran down his gaunt cheeks. Even as he clenched his jaw, Harry saw his lip tremble. Harry raised his hands in surrender, showing Malfoy that he had nothing to fear. “I just want to talk,” he said for good measure. He took his wand out of his cloak pocket, all the while maintaining eye contact with Malfoy, and instead of raising it in retaliation, let it drop to the floor with a clatter. “See? I don’t want to fight you. I just want to talk.”

The hand holding Malfoy’s wand shook. His eyes darted from Harry’s open palms to the wand at his feet like a cornered animal, waiting for the gun to be drawn. Myrtle came in between them. She raised her arms as if to shield Malfoy from Harry’s sight.

“Leave him alone,” she wailed at Harry. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Myrtle, please,” Harry pleaded with her. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt him. You know me, Myrtle. I can help.”

Myrtle opened her mouth to object, but Malfoy cut her off. “It’s okay, Myrtle,” he said, his voice a choked whisper. Through Myrtle’s torso, Harry could just make out Malfoy lowering his wand, the slump of his shoulders. “I can handle this.”

Myrtle didn’t move at first. Harry took a step forward, looking up at her with his earnest green eyes. “Give us a minute, alright? I won’t hurt him, we just need to talk.”

She crossed her arms, not entirely convinced. Nonetheless, she nodded. “I’ll be in the U-bend,” she told Malfoy haughtily. Then she swept off with a huff, proceeding to dive straight into one of the toilets with a drawn-out wail that echoed in the tiled room long after she was gone. Harry shook his head with a small smile.

“You have to give it to her, she can make an exit,” he said with a chuckle. Malfoy’s lips twitched. He stared at Harry, fiddling nervously with his wand. His skin had taken on a waxy hue over the past few months – his face resembled a patrician death mask, the only colour the pale pink of his lips, his furrowed dark brows, the dark silver of his eyes. Harry sighed as reality set in. This was not the dark knight he had made Malfoy out to be. He was a pawn, just like Harry, so easily discarded by the men playing their deadly game. “What’s going on, Malfoy?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible. “I know what you did to Katie. I know Voldemort’s making you do something.” Malfoy flinched at the name, and Harry frowned. “He is, isn’t he? Tell me, Malfoy. Please. Let me help.”

“You can’t help me,” Malfoy whispered. Tears spilled over, dripping down his hollow cheeks. “I have to do what the Dark Lord ordered… or he’s going to kill _me_.” With that, Malfoy sank to his knees, his head in his hands as he sobbed. “Oh gods,” he wept. “Oh gods, what have I done?”

In a heartbeat, Harry knelt down in front of his nemesis, his hands already reaching for the other boy when he realised what he was doing. He hesitated. But in his moment of hesitation, Malfoy tilted forward until he collapsed against Harry, his forehead on Harry’s shoulder as the tears sank into the exposed fabric of his shirt. Harry, unsure how he had ended up in this situation, wrapped his arms around Malfoy and held him through his tears. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Malfoy bawled without raising his head. “You don’t know… you have no idea…”

“But I do,” Harry reminded him firmly. He rubbed Malfoy’s back, feeling the knobs of his spine, the sharp just of his shoulder blades. His heart twisted, and he pulled Malfoy closer, as if doing so could absolve him of his sins. “I know exactly what he can do. And I promise, I won’t let him hurt you. Not if I can help it.”

Draco clutched at Harry, his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist as he wept into his chest, hands bunching the fabric of Harry’s shirt as he clung to him. Harry held him. He held him as the sun climbed higher into the sky, casting its light and its shadows onto their huddled forms. He held him as his sobs gradually softened and he grew quiet. He held him as his breaths evened out and his hands loosened their grip. They held each other in the soft silence that followed.

Harry pressed his cheek to the top of Draco’s head when Draco made no move to pull away. “You good?” he asked, his voice strangely loud in the quiet air. Draco’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

“Just so… tired,” he mumbled. Harry pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“I can imagine.” He trailed his fingers up and down Draco’s back as he thought. Draco shivered at the touch. Still, he did not pull away. “You want to tell me what’s been going on?” Harry asked. Draco let out a ragged sigh.

“You know, don’t you?” Draco grumbled. “What, you want my signed confession?” He rocked back onto his heels, out of Harry’s arms even as Harry unconsciously reached for him. Realising what he was doing, Harry let his arms fall uselessly to his sides, his cheeks blazing under Draco’s curious gaze. Harry let out a small huff.

“I just… want to hear your side of it,” he said at last. “I want to understand. You’ve been Marked, haven’t you?”

Draco bit his lip. He looked away, down at a cracked tile near one of the drains set into the floor. Finally, he nodded, his fingers playing with his left cuff as if debating whether or not to show Harry. Harry’s gut twisted. Some part of him had wanted it not to be true.

“Last summer,” Draco said, his voice small and timid, so unlike the proud boy Harry knew. “Mother was against it, but the Dark Lord had chosen me and I… I thought it was an honour.” His lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “I was such an idiot,” he sneered at himself. “I thought I was ready. Then he gave me the task, and ordered me to carry it out, told me that if I didn’t, he would kill my mother first. And if I failed, he would kill me, too.” He tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in his throat, came out ragged and broken. Harry reached out and put his hand on Draco’s knee. He gave it a small squeeze, and Draco gave him an even smaller smile, but still didn’t turn to look at him. “He wants me to kill Dumbledore, did you figure that out as well? He gave me until the end of the year and… I don’t want to kill anyone, Potter, I can’t, I’m a coward, I’m a bloody coward,” he sobbed. “I can’t do it, and now he’s going to kill me, he’s going to kill everyone I love, just because I couldn’t kill one man!”

Harry took hold of Draco’s hands where they rested in the other boy’s lap. Draco bowed his head, his whole body shaking as his tears fell on their joined hands.

“No,” Harry murmured, “No, no, you’re not a coward, Draco.” Draco hiccoughed in surprise at his first name coming out of Harry’s mouth. “Listen to me. You’re going to get through this. I’m going to help you get through this. We’ll figure something out. We’ll go to Dumbledore and….”

Draco shook his head violently. His eyes were wide with fear when he finally looked at Harry. He made to pull his hands from Harry’s grip. “No, I can’t,” he protested. But Harry held on tight, set his jaw firmly as he levelled his gaze on Draco.

“We’ll go to Dumbledore,” he repeated. “Tell him everything. He’ll know what to do. He’ll know how to protect you. It’s the only way.”

“No, no, there’s got to be something else – ”

“There is nothing else, Draco. I promise, it’ll be okay. I’ll come with you. I’ll be there the whole time. But we have to tell him.”

Draco searched Harry’s face for any hint of deception. Finding none, the fight seemed to leave him all at once. He slumped forward, his head bowed as he stared at their joined hands. “All right,” he said quietly. “I’m a dead man anyway.”

Harry let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He let go of one of Draco’s hands only to bring it up to Draco’s face, wiping away the tears with his thumb. Draco leaned into the touch. Here, he didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to hide. When Harry pulled him to his feet, he did so shakily, as if he wasn’t sure his legs could take his weight. Harry watched him warily as he picked up his discarded wand. Maybe it was the way Draco swayed as he stood that made Harry lace his fingers with his, made him give his hand a squeeze as he led Draco out of the bathroom and into the deserted hallway. Classes would be ending soon. They would have to move fast if they didn’t want to be seen.

When they reached the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office, Draco was surprised how easily Harry gave the password. He raised his eyebrows at the smaller boy, who shrugged.

“You’re not the only one with secrets,” he said in lieu of an explanation. He tugged Draco onto the stairs, and as they were carried up, he gave Draco a curious smile. “What?” he asked. Draco shook his head.

“Nothing,” he murmured. Harry pursed his lips. But before he could say anything, they had reached Dumbledore’s office door. Harry knocked.

“Professor?” he called through the ancient wood of the door. “It’s Harry.”

“Come in.”

Harry opened the door a crack and poked his head through. Sunlight filtered in through the tall narrow windows onto the strange devices scattered around the large office on their well-polished pedestals. Dumbledore sat behind his desk and looked up with a benevolent smile from his paperwork.

“How can I help you, my boy?” he asked. “We didn’t have an appointment today, did we?”

“Er, no, sir,” Harry replied. He felt Draco squeeze his hand behind the door, and he squeezed back reassuringly. “There’s just someone here who needs to talk to you, sir. Right away.”

Dumbledore considered him over his half-moon spectacles. “You have piqued my curiosity,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “Very well. Send in this mystery person.”

Harry pushed the door open fully, revealing Draco standing just behind him, his sweaty hand still clutching Harry’s. Dumbledore, to his credit, did not look that surprised to see Draco. Instead, he gestured for the two of them to come in and take a seat.

“Come in, Mr. Malfoy. I get the feeling that we’ll be missing lunch,” Dumbledore said as they crossed the room to his desk. “I’ll send for some sandwiches, shall I? Please, make yourselves comfortable while I let the kitchens know.” He stood as they sat, Draco perched on the edge of his seat while Harry leaned back in his. He shuffled over to one of the numerous portraits and spoke in a soft whisper to the inhabitant, a harried looking man with lavender robes. Draco still refused to let go of Harry’s hand.

Harry glanced at him. Draco had grown impossibly pale, as if he was turning into a ghost before Harry’s very eyes. Harry worried his lip and rubbed Draco’s hand with his thumb. Draco closed his eyes at the touch. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. Harry wanted to tell him that it was going to be alright, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, Dumbledore turned back to them and returned to his chair behind his desk. If he noticed their joined hands, he didn’t say a word.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore began, steepling his fingers together as he levelled his gaze at the young man. Draco met his gaze as evenly as he could. “What is it you want to tell me?”

It was a long time before Draco finished talking. They paused only briefly when one of the kitchen house elves arrived, carrying a tray of sandwiches and small plates. When she was gone, Harry grabbed one of the sandwiches with a free hand and proceeded to devour it. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until that moment. Draco watched him with hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Always so elegant,” he sneered, but there was no malice in his voice. He even let go of Harry’s hand in order to pass him a serviette, muttering, “Honestly, you’d think you were raised by animals.” Harry grinned and shook his head as he took the serviette from Draco. He wiped his mouth, nonetheless.

“Better?” he asked. Draco’s smile faded as his gaze lingered on Harry’s smiling mouth. He shook his head, a few white-blonde hairs falling into his eyes. He pushed them back and turned away.

“It’s an improvement,” he replied coolly.

Dumbledore watched the exchange with a knowing glint in his eye. When Harry reached over to interlace his fingers with Draco’s again, Dumbledore had to stifle his grin. He gestured instead for Draco to continue. He nodded along as Draco explained everything he had planned to do with the Vanishing Cabinet, all the while examining their two young faces. There was a light in Harry’s that Dumbledore had never seen before. It was like a rising sun, clear and unabashedly bright to the point that he had to look away lest he be blinded by it. Dumbledore considered his gnarled hands, his blackened left hand a constant reminder of his own mistakes. His expression grew weary and contemplative. Harry, turning to see how Dumbledore reacted to Draco’s plan for the Death Eaters to infiltrate the castle, narrowed his eyes at the look on Dumbledore’s face.

“Professor?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”

Immediately, the darkness in Dumbledore’s lined and wrinkled face disappeared, replaced with his benign smile.

“Perfectly alright, my boy,” he replied. He turned to Draco. “As far as your tale, Mr. Malfoy – don’t worry, I believe every word, but you have to admit, it is quite a tale. I assure you, I do not blame you for your attempts to kill me. You had much to lose if you didn’t succeed. Now, of course, we must consider what to do in light of all this. Are you willing to hear what I have to say?”

Draco nodded. Dumbledore lowered his hands into his lap, settling back into his seat.

“First,” said Dumbledore, “we must forget this ever happened.”

“Sir?” Harry protested, sitting up. Dumbledore gestured for him to be patient.

“We must,” he continued, “pretend that I know nothing of Mr. Malfoy’s plans. You will carry on fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, allowing the Death Eaters into the castle. I will arrange it so that the students and staff are safe on the night you plan to hatch this little invasion. Harry, you and I may have a task of our own to carry out that night, but I cannot say anymore about it at present. Needless to say, we will be back in time to meet you, Mr. Malfoy, on top of the Astronomy Tower. We will know you have succeeded when you cast the Dark Mark into the sky above the Tower. Are you with me so far?”

Again, Draco nodded. He pulled his hand away from Harry’s, who was looking from Dumbledore to Draco in aghast astonishment. Draco folded his hands in his lap, his back ramrod straight as he bowed his head, listening to Dumbledore’s plan.

“We will make it look like you succeeded in killing me that night,” Dumbledore continued, as easily as if they were discussing the weather. “You will escape with the other Death Eaters and become a double agent for the Order. Everything you hear, every plan and every word, you will report back to us. It is crucial that you not be caught. Do you understand?”

Once again, Draco nodded.

“No,” Harry spluttered, leaning forward in his chair, “no, I don’t understand! Professor, we can’t let him go back! It’s too dangerous! We have to protect him!”

“But we are protecting him,” Dumbledore argued. He did not look away from Draco’s bowed head. “If Voldemort knew young Draco here had betrayed him, we might as well place a target on his back here and now. If, instead, we play along, he has no reason to suspect him. You see, it is the only way. He won’t have to kill me, simply make it look as if he had.”

“But then you’re sending him back straight to Voldemort!” Harry shouted.

Draco winced and muttered under his breath, “Can we please stop using his name?” Harry couldn’t hear him over the blood roaring in his ears.

“And what if he does find out about Draco? What then? We can’t do anything to protect him if he’s discovered! We’d be sentencing him to die!” He didn’t know when he had gotten to his feet. Swept up in his anger, he paced back and forth in front of Dumbledore’s desk. “There’s got to be another way! Some way we can keep him safe!”

Draco looked up and met Dumbledore’s gaze. Dumbledore nodded once. Draco sighed. He reached out and caught Harry’s wrist as he passed him in his pacing, pulling him to a halt with a soft, “Harry.”

“I will give you two some space,” said Dumbledore, getting to his feet. “Draco, you know what you need to do.”

Harry watched, stunned, as Dumbledore made his way from behind his desk. He patted Harry’s shoulder as he passed with a gentle smile, but otherwise he left without a word, the door to his office snicking closed behind him. Draco bit his lip as he held Harry’s wrist, not looking up into his confused face as he whispered, “Dumbledore’s right. I have to do this.”

“No,” Harry protested, but his voice was disbelieving, broken, all the anger washing out of him as he sat back down heavily in his chair. He held Draco’s hand in both of his, searching Draco’s pale face for an answer, any answer. “Please, you don’t have to go through with it, we can find another way.”

“Didn’t you hear him? There isn’t any other way!” Draco snapped. He pulled his hand from Harry’s grip. Harry frowned, stubborn.

“You can’t believe that,” said Harry. “Come on, Draco, we can figure this out!”

“Why?” Draco glared at him, his hands balling into fists in his lap. “Why are you so damn set on helping me?”

Harry leaned back, biting his lip as he looked away. His gaze landed on the Sorting Hat, sitting silently on its perch, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“Did you know,” he said in a low voice, “that the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin?” He glanced over at Draco. Draco’s brow furrowed, an endearing little crease forming at the edge of his mouth as he frowned. “But I refused, so it put me in Gryffindor. Can you imagine if I had let it sort me into Slytherin? If we had been friends this whole time, instead of enemies?”

Draco shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “No, I honestly can’t imagine that. Where are you going with this, Potter?”

Harry chuckled. “You called me Harry earlier,” he said with half a smile. Draco pursed his lips but said nothing, waiting for Harry to explain himself. Harry sighed as he braced his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling as he stared at his beat-up trainers. “There are so many moments,” he continued at last, “where things could have gone so differently. It’s hard to know when you’ve made the right decision and when you’ve made a mistake.”

He fell silent again. Draco’s frown deepened. “As much as your eloquence is impressing me,” he said in an attempt at his old drawl, “I fail to see how this answers my question. Why are you helping me?”

Harry looked up. His smile was crooked as his green eyes shone behind the dirty lenses of his glasses. “Because I’m realising something,” he said, “that I should have realised a long time ago.”

“And what’s that?”

Harry pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Come on, we should head back. People will be wondering where we are, and Dumbledore will be wanting his office back.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question,” Draco pointed out.

“I know. And I will. But not right now. I have some things to think about first.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Draco no choice but to get up and follow him out of Dumbledore’s office.

-

That Saturday, Gryffindor won its highly anticipated match with Ravenclaw. As Harry celebrated with his teammates on the pitch, he searched the crowd above their heads for one face in particular – but he wasn’t there. Harry’s victorious grin faded, and he turned away from his teammates, only to run right into Ron and Hermione running on to the pitch to congratulate him. They must have seen the look on his face because almost immediately their congratulations died on their lips. Hermione grasped his arm, concern in her brown eyes.

“Everything alright, mate?” Ron asked. Harry forced a smile.

“Fantastic. I just… I have to go do something. I’ll see you back in the common room, yeah?” He shrugged them off as best as he could. With a wave, he made his way off the pitch, taking only a moment to put away his broom and shove his change of clothes into his book bag.

He took out the Map as he jogged up to the castle, searching it until he found the little dot up in the Astronomy Tower. His stomach did a somersault as he slowed just for a moment. Then he put the Map away and set off at a run.

By the time he got to the top of the Astronomy Tower, he was even more sweaty and out of breath than he was when the match ended. He leaned against the doorway, gulping in deep lungful’s of fresh air as he tried to slow his racing heart. The tall figure standing braced against the parapet didn’t turn around. Breath caught, Harry said,

“You weren’t at the match.”

Draco looked at him over his shoulder with a small smile at the corner of his lips. “I watched it from here,” he said. His smile faded as he added, “The Cabinet’s almost fixed.”

“Oh.” Harry set his bag down by the doorway, his stomach sinking. “That means it’s almost time.”

Draco nodded. He turned back, looking out over the grounds. Harry came and stood beside him, crossing his arms against the top of the low wall. Together, they watched the crowd trickle back from the Quidditch pitch to the castle as the sun began to set over the lake. Harry shivered as the cool wind brushed against the sweaty nape of his neck. When the last few stragglers finally disappeared inside, Draco turned to face Harry.

“Are you ever going to answer my question?” he asked. Harry chuckled.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He turned so that he too was facing Draco, but it was a long moment before he looked up and met Draco’s gaze. His expression was timid, uncertain, so unlike the confident Gryffindor that Draco inhaled sharply through his teeth. Harry fidgeted, shoving his hands in the pockets of his Quidditch robes as he tried to find the right words.

“I want to help you,” he said at last, “because I’ve realised that I care about you, Draco. I don’t expect you to feel the same, obviously. I mean,” he let out a hollow laugh as he looked away, back over the grounds towards the dying light, “how could you, after everything? But I thought you should know, seeing as everything is about to go to hell in a handbasket.” He looked down and kicked the toe of his shoe against the wall. “You can go ahead and laugh now,” he said, his brown cheeks blushing red.

But instead of laughter, he felt Draco’s hand on his shoulder, up against the curve of his neck, his other hand gently nudging Harry’s chin up to look at him. His grey eyes were soft as they searched Harry’s face. He bit his lip, and Harry’s eyes followed the movement, watched white teeth nip into pale pink skin. Harry’s breath caught in his chest.

“I care about you, too,” Draco whispered as his hand cradled Harry’s jaw. Harry’s heart leapt. It must have shown, because Draco smiled tenderly at him, his thumb brushing his cheek. The smile faltered, though, as Draco added, “But once the Cabinet is finished and the plan is carried out, we may never see each other again.”

Harry reached up to wrap his arms around Draco’s neck, pulling him down to rest his forehead against Draco’s. “I know,” he murmured. “Can we just… have this? Before we go our separate ways?”

Draco nodded. “Okay,” he whispered as his nose rubbed up against Harry’s, his breath against Harry’s lips. “Okay,” he murmured again, as he closed the small space between them and kissed Harry as if for the last time. “Ok-” But Harry didn’t let him finish. He pulled Draco back in, their mouths crashing together as they kissed each other hungrily, passionately, fingers curling into hair and into skin, pushing, pressing, holding.

“Please don’t go,” Harry whispered between desperate kisses, “please don’t leave me.”

Draco didn’t answer, simply pulled him closer.

It was a long time before they broke apart. Their breathing was ragged as they leaned their foreheads together, both trying to get their racing hearts under control. Draco left one last kiss on the top of Harry’s head before he stepped away. Harry reached for him, but Draco shook his head, biting back the tears that threatened in his stormy eyes as he backed away.

“Go,” Draco breathed. “Be with your friends. I’ll be okay.”

“Draco…”

But he was already turning, already leaving. Harry blinked, and he was gone.

-

Later that night, Harry would come back to the Gryffindor common room to find the victory party in full swing. When Ginny ran up and flung herself into his arms, he kissed her. He tried not to think of what he wanted, only what was in front of him. The rest would come.


	2. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later, Draco wondered if he had lost his chance.

Draco didn’t know what he should have done when the war ended. After he was exonerated, thanks to Harry’s testimony. After his father went to Azkaban and never came back, his proud head hung low. After he found an apprenticeship at Gringotts, where no one asked too many questions, and moved to London to escape the silent haunting of the Manor, where he couldn’t sleep without seeing the bodies, the blood, without hearing that high, cold laugh. Should he have reached out to Harry? Asked him over for tea like they were old friends? Would he have asked after Harry’s fiancée, feigned a smile at the ring on his finger? More likely he would have broken down, knowing for certain that he had lost everything after all.

It had been five years since the war. He had a job, a place to call his own just outside the city, a cat named Scorpius who brought him dead moths as trophies. Every so often a partner would try to open him up, take a look inside – relationships are about give and take, Draco, one had shouted at him, and you never give, Draco, never! Draco didn’t shed so much as a tear. He simply sipped his espresso as the other man stormed out of his life, never to be seen again.

“I really know how to choose them, don’t I?” he asked his cat. Scorpius looked up from his breakfast to blink his green and amber eyes at him, as if to say, ‘Obviously’. A large fluffy brown tabby that Draco suspected was part Maine Coon, part Kneazle, Scorpius never warmed up to any of Draco’s partners. He once joked to Pansy that Scorpius had better taste in men than he did. Pansy had only shaken her head pityingly. She had her own theories as to why Draco’s partners never lasted long, and it had nothing to do with his judgemental cat.

“Don’t you think you do it on purpose?” she asked him. She had dragged him to one of the new wine bars that had started to pop up. This one was owned by a witch that bore a striking resemblance to Professor Trelawney, with her layered beaded necklaces and silver bangles announcing her presence as she moved about her clientele. He and Pansy sat at a high-top table in the corner, sharing a bottle of Zinfandel while Draco bemoaned the fact that he was going to end up a crazy cat lady for the millionth time. “You date men that are a good shag,” she continued, “but that’s it. Why don’t you try to find someone who actually _likes_ you for you?”

Draco pouted and changed the subject to avoid conceding her point. The last time someone had liked Draco for who he was, they had ended up on opposite sides of a bloody, merciless war. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

“Oh, before I forget, did you hear? Potter’s leaving the Ministry.” Pansy watched Draco’s expression as she sipped her wine, gauging his reaction to this gossip. Anyone else would have missed it – the flicker in Draco’s grey eyes, the slight tightening of his mouth, the way his fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass a little too hard.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, aiming for nonchalance. Pansy played along, tossing her hair to one side as she traced the rim of her glass with one finger.

“Overheard it from one of my patients, an Auror that had gotten into a bit of a scrape. Her visitor was another Auror, McKinley or something like that. Anyway, she asked him why Potter couldn’t take over her case, and this McKinley or whatever said that Potter’s handed in his notice. Imagine my surprise!”

“What about Healer-patient confidentiality?” Draco teased. Pansy rolled her eyes. Draco let out a small breath meant to be a laugh, took a sip of his wine. “Wonder what he’s going to do, now that he’s not trying to save the world anymore.”

Pansy shrugged, already bored of the topic. “Don’t know, don’t care,” she said. “Can’t imagine he’ll stay in London, seeing as there’s nothing for him here anymore.”

“Isn’t he married to that Weasley girl?” Draco asked. He took a long sip of his wine to settle his twisting stomach. Pansy scoffed.

“Ginny? Oh, no, they broke up last year or something, never even got to the altar. Skeeter tried to do a whole exposé on it, but Potter had it pulled, something about compromising their privacy and everything. Minnie told me all about it.” Minnie, Pansy’s girlfriend, was a news correspondent for the _Prophet_ and often kept them updated on the latest scoop. “In any case,” she continued, “according to all the gossip, turns out they were both in love with someone else. Ginny’s off with that Luna Lovegood of all people – I know right?” she exclaimed when Draco almost spat out his wine in shock. “I mean, it makes sense and all. But still. Apparently they make quite the power couple.”

Draco, reeling, sat back in his chair as he let Pansy’s words sink in. “Wait, you said they were both in love with someone else? Who’s Har – I mean, Potter with?” He hoped she would chalk his slip up to the alcohol, but the way her eyes narrowed told him otherwise. His stomach sank, even as a small piece of him waited with bated breath for her reply. Not that he expected Harry to go and proclaim his love for him to the world – it had been years. Not just since _that night_ but since he had even seen Harry. Surely after all this time…

“Oh, no one knows,” Pansy said flippantly. Draco’s stomach sank even lower. “There’s been a lot of speculation, though. Apparently someone at the _Prophet_ has pictures of him at a Muggle gay club in Soho, but that might just be a rumour.” Draco tried to take a deep breath through his nose, but when he closed his eyes, he saw Harry – not the awkward sixteen year old, nor the haggard war hero, but Harry the man from the newspaper photographs, with his strong stubbled jaw and broad shoulders – dancing with some other nameless, faceless man in the depths of a shadowy nightclub. A storm churned in his stomach, which had settled somewhere in the vicinity of his shaking knees. He wanted to vomit, to cry, to laugh – but he kept his neutral mask in place. Pansy frowned, disappointed. She’s hoped to glean more from Draco’s reaction, but the only sign that he was bothered by her gossip was a slight sheen of sweat at his temples, and even that could be a trick of the light.

When Draco got home that night, decidedly tipsier than he had been in a while, he didn’t even make it to the bed. Instead, he sank to the floor, back against the bed frame as he propped his arms on his knees. Scorpius raised his head from where he lay curled up in the middle of the bed.

“What am I supposed to do, Scorp?” Draco slurred, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Okay, maybe he was a bit more than tipsy. “Just show up at his door and – what? Ask him to stay? For me? Gods, that’s pathetic.” He pulled himself up onto the bed and curled around his cat, burying his face in soft fur as Scorpius purred and stretched onto his back. “I don’t know what to do, Scorp,” Draco mumbled as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Scorpius purred on.

Draco woke up sometime in the early morning, his ears ringing and his tongue tasting like Scorpius had left a dead moth in it. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before. He sighed and rolled off the bed. After he had brushed his teeth and stripped, he stood in the shower, hot water beating against his back as he leaned against the wall, his thoughts sluggish and painful. As he finally managed to soap up, an idea began to form in the back of his mind. By the time he’d dressed and started making his breakfast – espresso and toast – the idea had become a crazy, idiotic plan.

The sun began its climb into the overcast London sky. Draco rolled up the note he had written on a small slip of paper and tied it with a spare bit of kitchen twine. He fed Scorpius, grabbed his wand and wallet, pulled on his shoes as if he was just popping out to the shops for milk. All the while the note burned in his pocket.

He Apparated to Diagon Alley and made his way past bleary eyed commuters to the post office. It was late August, still summer really, but there was a brisk chill in the air. Draco shivered, regretting not putting on a jacket over his plain button-down. When he reached the post office, he swore just loud enough for a couple of older witches to give him a reprimanding glare.

It was Sunday. The post office was closed.

Draco walked away in a daze. What was he supposed to do now? He had no idea where Harry lived. He supposed he could go to Pansy and ask to borrow her owl – but no, her owl had passed away last Christmas. He couldn’t send a Patronus – no matter how hard he’d tried, he could never get so much as a wisp of white smoke. He couldn’t just show up at the Ministry and demand to see Harry Potter – could he? He picked up his pace, turning towards a quiet alleyway to Disapparate in. To the Ministry it was.

Only, when he popped into the great high-ceilinged atrium, he realised that he head no idea where the Auror office was located. The court rooms, his father’s old office, sure. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Not so much.

A few weary looking wizards scowled at him as they passed. He shoved his hands into his pockets self-consciously. It had been five years, but people still didn’t really trust him, even if he was acquitted. The goblins didn’t care, neither did most of the people he worked with, so long as he handed in his reports on time. But standing there in that vaulted space with its new abstract golden fountain glinting at its centre, he felt a hook in his gut, tugging him back through time and space, and he closed his eyes, lost in the memory.

_He held onto his mother, her arm around his narrow shoulders, half-stumbling with exhausted relief. She squeezed his arm, both their grips tight on each other, as if afraid someone was going to come and say it was all a mistake and tear them apart._

_There was the chime of the lift behind them. Then, someone calling his name. He turned._

_It was Harry. He jogged up to Draco, his warm gold skin flushed and his black curls wild about his face. Not even a court appearance could convince Harry to appear professional, it seemed. His top button was undone, and one of his dress shoes had come untied._

_“Draco, wait!”_

_He held something out to Draco. It took him a minute to realise that Harry was offering him his wand, the same one he had wrestled from him in Malfoy Manor. Did he know, Draco wondered, that he would have given it willingly if he’d asked? That he would have escaped with them if he could?_

_“Thank you,” Draco whispered, his voice hoarse. Harry shrugged, gave him a tight lipped smile, his emerald eyes searching Draco’s for something – but then someone, the Weasley girl, was calling his name, and he turned away from Draco with a sad wave and a muttered ‘goodbye’. Draco stood there, watched him walk off with his arm around the girl’s waist, until they disappeared into the crowd. Only then did he crumple to the floor._

“Draco?”

He blinked. He was back in the present, standing in front of the new fountain, watching the water cascade into the crystal-clear pool. The words ‘Together We Stand’ shone back at him from beneath the water where they were stamped into the floor of the pool. He turned towards the voice and froze.

Harry was grinning at him. He wore a leather jacket over a maroon button-down, black jeans tucked into black boots, his Auror robes draped over his arm. Standing there, looking once again into those warm summer-coloured eyes, Draco realised how young they both were, how far they had come. Harry was talking. He shook his head and tried to focus on the words over the heavy beating of his heart against his ribcage.

“– are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in years!” The reflected light from the fountain sparkled in Harry’s glasses as he pushed them up his slightly crooked nose. He looked Draco up and down slowly, a hungry gleam in his eye, as if he had been starving before he saw Draco. Draco chastised himself. He was being dramatic, ridiculous. Harry must have noticed something. His smile fell, and he put his hand on Draco’s arm in concern. His touch burned straight through Draco’s skin like an open flame. “Draco?” he asked, the name like honey on his lips. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Draco forced himself to say. His fingers fiddled with the note in his pocket as the madness of his situation settled in. He looked down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come, I just heard you were leaving the Ministry, leaving London, and I – I’m sorry, I was mistaken, I’ll just go – ”

Harry squeezed his arm gently. When Draco dared to look up, Harry’s expression was soft, tender even. “Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here, actually. I’m just returning my uniform and picking up my last payslip, I’ll just be a moment. Wait for me?”

Draco, surprised, nodded. Harry smiled, gave his arm another squeeze before his hand dropped away and he stepped back. Draco swayed slightly, as if Harry’s hand on his arm was the only thing keeping him upright.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Harry said as he took a few steps towards the lift, not taking his eyes off Draco, as if afraid – afraid that if he blinked, Draco would disappear. Draco gave him a timid smile, another nod. Harry beamed. He held up a hand, another reminder for Draco to stay, before turning and jogging off to the lift. Before he went in, he looked back over his shoulder, and this time there was no mistaking the relief, the unbridled joy in his eyes. Draco raised a hand in a wave, didn’t lower it until the doors slid closed and the lift shot off into the depths of the Ministry. Only then did Draco sink down onto the edge of the fountain. Only then did he realise he was trembling.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Draco began to get fidgety. More and more people filled the atrium, off to start their days. Some gave him strange looks, but most ignored him. Draco took out a Knut, flipped it with his thumb into the fountain, made a wish. A strange, panicked thought popped up in his mind – what if Harry had gone to get the other Aurors to arrest him? For what – he didn’t know, he’d been a law-abiding citizen since the war. He shook the thought off just as the lift doors opened and Harry came barrelling towards him. He all but bowled him over as Draco stood to greet him.

Harry grinned up at him, one hand in the pocket of his jeans while the other plucked at Draco’s cuff like an eager child. “Want to talk?” he asked. “Let’s go somewhere – I’m trying to sell my place so we can’t go there right now, there’s a showing. Can we go to yours? Or we can go somewhere else if you want?”

His excitement was contagious. Draco could barely contain his own grin as he reached out and interlaced his fingers with Harry’s. They both closed their eyes, let out contented sighs, as if their joined hands were completing a spell five years in the making. When Harry’s eyes fluttered open, Draco smiled at him unabashedly.

“Let’s go to mine,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Harry nodded. Without another word, they Apparated, leaving the early morning commuters to go about their day as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started off as an epilogue and now there might be a third chapter coming soon oh no


	3. Don't Leave Me (Reprisal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco talk. Scorpius approves.

They landed with a pop in Draco’s entryway, Harry swaying up against him, maybe only slightly accidentally. He put a hand on Draco’s chest to steady himself, his other hand still caught in Draco’s. Harry caught his eye and smiled. Draco pulled away.

“The, er, living room is just down the hall,” Draco said, letting go of Harry’s hand and gesturing towards the back of the house. “I’m going to put the kettle on, do you – do you want tea? Coffee?”

Harry’s smile grew small, and he looked over towards the living room door. “Right, yeah,” he said quietly. “Tea sounds great.”

Draco scurried off to the kitchen. With a flick of his wand, he filled the kettle and set it on the stove to heat while he stood, hands braced against the kitchen sink, taking deep breaths and trying not to be sick. His shirt stuck to his back where he’d broken out in a cold sweat. Distantly, he heard Harry moving about, the creak of the floorboards as he walked around the living room. Draco counted to twenty in his head, then back down to zero.

The nausea passed until it was just an ache in his gut. He pushed his hair off his forehead, passed his wand over himself to wick away the sweat, wiped his clammy hands on his trousers. The kettle whistled. He set about putting the tea things on a tray while the kettle poured the boiling water into a teapot, which in turn floated over to the spot Draco had made for it on the tray. He carried it into the living room, grateful that his hands didn’t shake, not once.

But then he saw Harry petting Scorpius, and he almost dropped the tray.

Scorpius didn’t like anyone besides Draco, didn’t trust anyone besides Draco, didn’t let anyone pet him besides Draco. Not even Pansy could get past his cold shoulder. All of his exes would attest to Scorpius throwing up in their shoes or leaving threatening presents on their clothes – one had even woken up in the middle of the night to find Scorpius glaring at him and growling as he lay on top of Draco’s chest, his claws digging into the comforter. Draco hadn’t believed him until he got in the shower and saw tiny little claw marks on his chest.

And yet, here he was, standing with his front paws on Harry’s lap, shoving his face into Harry’s as Harry pet him, looking more than a little taken aback. Scorpius’s purrs were deafening. Harry looked up at Draco who still stood frozen in the doorway, holding the tea tray in absolute consternation. He shrugged.

“Nice cat,” he remarked. He chuckled as Scorpius headbutted his chin. “I think he likes me.”

“Scorpius isn’t nice,” Draco deadpanned in shock. “He hates everyone but me.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. Scorpius began to make himself at home on Harry’s lap, turning around to hit him in the face with his bottlebrush tail. Harry spat out a couple of hairs. He tried to negotiate with Scorpius, but it was too late – the massive cat sprawled itself across Harry’s lap, front legs tucked under his chest as he blinked lazily over at Draco, a satisfied smirk on his face. Harry blinked, shook his head, and resumed stroking the cat, whose purr sounded like a sputtering motorbike.

“Well, he apparently doesn’t hate me,” Harry pointed out. He looked up at Draco over the rim of his glasses, his green eyes sparkling with laughter. “Although I have to admit, I’m more of a dog person, usually.”

Scorpius’s ear twitched. Draco gave a startled chuckle. He finally managed to move, setting the tray down on the coffee table and sitting on the couch next to Harry so that he could give Scorpius a little head scritch. In the corner of his eye, he registered that Harry had taken off his leather jacket, revealing his short sleeves and golden-brown arms. Scorpius stretched and settled down to sleep. Draco shook his head in absolute astonishment.

“This is the same cat who left a dead mouse in one of my exes Valentino shoes,” he said, half to himself. Harry snorted.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Harry asked. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Let me put it this way – the mouse had been properly decapitated and disembowelled, which I guess was why the other shoe was filled with cat vomit.”

Harry grinned down at the cat as he leaned back on his hands. “This is my kind of cat,” he chuckled. “Although he does remind me a bit of Crookshanks, who absolutely hated me.” He glanced at Draco, sucked his lower lip between his teeth as he considered the other man. Draco felt his cheeks flush and refused to meet his gaze, instead focusing entirely on petting Scorpius. “Why did you come to see me at the Ministry?” he asked.

Draco’s hand froze on Scorpius’s back. Scorpius thumped his tail once in displeasure. He forced himself to resume his long strokes along the cat’s flank. He swallowed hard and said, “I told you, I’d heard you were leaving and….”

“And what?” Harry prompted. “You wanted to give me a proper send off or something? You missed my quitting party at Ron and Hermione’s last weekend, in that case. It was great. I got quite sloshed, to be honest, so I don’t remember a lot, but it was fun from what I do remember.”

Draco shook his head with a tiny, disparaging smile. He could just imagine what kind of antics a drunken Harry could get up to. Harry watched him pet Scorpius for a moment, waiting for Draco to say something. When it became apparent that Draco wasn’t going to explain himself, Harry sighed and sat up, grabbing Draco’s hand to force him to stop petting the cat. Draco’s gut clenched. Still, he didn’t dare look up, even though he could feel Harry’s heavy gaze on him.

“Draco,” Harry said, his voice low and soft. “What’s going on? Tell me.”

Draco hesitated. Then, he blurted out, “Why did you break up with Ginny?” Only then, when the words hung in the air, unretractable, did he look up.

Harry blinked. “Oh. Erm.” He pushed his glasses up with a slight frown. “It wasn’t working out,” he said, picking his words with care. “She and I just… weren’t compatible. She wanted more than I could give her, I guess. That, and she had started to see Luna behind my back, and when it all came down to it, cards on the table, we realised we loved the idea of us together more than we loved each other.” He let out a long, ragged breath. He was still holding Draco’s hand. Absent-mindedly, his thumb rubbed the side of Draco’s wrist, back and forth, back and forth.

When he continued, his voice was so quiet that Draco had to lean forward to hear him. “She said that I was never really in love with her to begin with, that I had already given my heart to someone and that it was doomed from the start. I tried to deny it, but she was right. It’s like… our relationship was infected, and we could never heal from it, because how can you heal when you can’t see the wound, only the infection it has caused?”

Draco turned his hand over to lace his fingers with Harry’s as he thought over his words. “Your eloquence is impressive,” he said at last after several long moments of silence, “for someone who has the intelligence of a teaspoon.”

Harry snorted, startling Scorpius, who must have had enough and pushed off Harry’s lap. He waved his tail at them as he left, as if to say, ‘I’ll leave you to it then’. In Scorpius’s absence, Harry cradled their joined hands in his lap, his free hand trying to brush off some of the massive amounts of cat hair covering his jeans. Draco snickered.

“Here, let me.” He waved his wand, vanishing the cat hair. “He’s an absolute menace, that cat.”

“I like him,” Harry announced with a grin. Draco couldn’t help but grin back, but it didn’t last long. His grin shook, slipped into a frown as he stared at their joined hands. Harry shifted so that he could face Draco better, dipped his head to try and get into Draco’s line of sight. “Come on, Draco,” he murmured, “talk to me.”

Draco tried to swallow past the lump of all his unspoken words in his throat. He hadn’t planned this far ahead, hadn’t considered what he’d say when he finally found Harry, had only jotted down the words ‘I need to see you -DM’ on his initial note, now crumpled and useless in his pocket. Only now did he realise that he had gone to the Ministry to say goodbye.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said thickly. “You’re leaving.”

Harry squeezed his hand. “Yeah,” he admitted, “I’m going to Hogwarts. They need a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I thought I’d give it a go. But I don’t leave until the last week of August, and I still need to sell my place, and Hermione and Ron are going to start trying to have kids soon – it’s not like I’m leaving forever. Hey.” He lifted Draco’s chin with two fingers, making him look him in the eye. “Tell me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Draco looked from Harry’s earnest green eyes, at the flecks of gold and brown around the pupil he’d almost forgotten all about, then down to the curve of his lips. Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed him.

When Harry didn’t respond immediately, Draco pulled back, an apology already half out of his mouth. But then Harry’s lips were crashing into his. Harry’s hand was on the back of his neck, pulling him in close as he scrambled onto Draco’s lap, letting go of Draco’s hand so that he could hold Draco’s head in his. The kiss was messy, too much teeth, all hot panting breaths as they tried to renegotiate themselves, Harry barely letting Draco pull away to adjust their positioning, so desperately did he cling to him. Draco grinned against his mouth, hoisted Harry up as he moved back on the couch so that Harry could straddle his hips properly without falling off, couldn’t stop grinning as Harry eagerly began sucking hickeys down Draco’s neck. He didn’t care what his colleagues would say at the bank tomorrow, he’d wear them proudly.

“I’ve wanted this,” Harry groaned, his breath hot on Draco’s skin, “for so long, you have no idea.”

Draco tangled one of his hands in Harry’s curls, snuck the other just under Harry’s shirt to rest on his low back, earning a small gasp from his touch. “I’ve wanted this, too,” Draco admitted. He leaned his head back to give Harry better access, resting against the back of the couch with a quiet moan. “I’ve wanted you… for so, so long.”

Harry looked up from his ministrations with a small frown. His eyes were lust-blown, almost entirely swallowed by black pupil. His glasses were smudged and sat a bit crooked on his nose. “Then why did you stay away for so long?” he asked.

“Why did you?” Draco retorted. “I thought you didn’t care about me anymore.”

Harry let out a disbelieving bark of laughter. “I thought you had moved on,” he admitted. “I heard from friends that you were with someone. Ted or someone.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “Tetsuo?” he asked. Harry shrugged. “That was ages ago. It didn’t even last that long.” Tetsuo, it turned out, was great in bed, but was even more emotionally cold than Draco – they ended up freezing each other out. He was the one who had found the mouse remains in his shoes. “Who even told – Pansy.” He shook his head with a twisted smile. He was going to kill her for letting out that titbit of information. For now, though, he pulled Harry in for a chaste kiss. “I’ve missed you every day,” he murmured against his lips, their noses brushing. Harry beamed.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back.”

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to come find you,” Draco replied.

They held each other close, their breaths mingling, chests pressed so close together they couldn’t tell whose heartbeat was whose. Then Harry ducked his head in for another kiss, slow and sweet at first as they explored, remembering the taste of each other on their tongues. Draco undid the buttons of Harry’s shirt, which Harry shrugged off without a thought, tossing it aside before setting on divesting Draco of his. Their kisses grew heated, their touches hungry. When Draco suggested they move to the bedroom, all Harry could do was nod.

They stumbled up to the bedroom like drunkards, neither willing to let the other go for long. They crashed against walls, chased each other up the stairs, left trousers and socks in their wake like snakes shedding their old skin until they were naked and exposed, reborn. When they finally tumbled onto the bed, limbs tangled and skin pressed against glorious skin, Draco managed to ask, “What do you want to do?”

Harry pulled back to look him in the eye. “Fuck me,” he said.

“Literally or metaphorically?”

Harry slapped Draco’s shoulder with a teasing scowl. Draco yelped but conceded. “Right, sorry. But… are you sure?”

Harry nodded, his bruised and bitten lips quirking into a vulnerable smile. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said softly. “I want you. All of you.”

Draco bit back the moan his words stirred in him. He tried to remain level-headed, considerate – he almost never topped, and definitely not during a first time with someone, although he had to admit the look in Harry’s eyes made arousal curl like a taught spring in his groin. He took a breath to steady himself. “Have you bottomed before?” he asked, tracing his fingers along Harry’s cheek bone, the crooked line of his nose. Harry shook his head, blushing adorably. “You sure you want to, then?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m bloody sure,” he said. “Now are you going to fuck me or not?”

Draco laughed.

They took it slow. Draco learned what Harry liked, found small scars and secret freckles as he explored Harry’s body, felt the waves of Harry’s pleasure as his own. At one point, Harry reached back and grabbed hold of Draco’s hip, pulling him in closer, deeper, even as he pushed back against him, as if trying to pull Draco into his body entirely. Draco pressed himself along the curve of Harry’s back, one arm wrapped around his waist, skin to skin to skin, melting into the man he had loved for so long. Harry came, crying out Draco’s name. Draco followed soon after, the sound of his name pulled from Harry’s mouth like a prayer ringing in his ears.

Later, after they cleaned themselves up and lay in bed together, Draco’s head on Harry’s broad chest, Draco tried to hold onto consciousness but found himself slipping into a blissful sleep. Harry chuckled when he tried to stifle a particularly large yawn.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his white blonde hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

“You’re not going to leave?” Draco mumbled, his eyelids already drooping.

“No,” Harry promised. “I won’t leave you.” But Draco was asleep. He pulled him close with a sigh, his heart so full he thought it might break. He fell asleep with a soft smile, happier than he had been for years.

-

Scorpius hopped onto the bed a little while later. He was only momentarily surprised at his human not only being in bed at noon, but wrapped in the arms of the other human. Then he sat down at the end of the bed with his tail curled around his front paws. He twitched his ears. This was fine, he told himself. He approved of this one. This one would not hurt his human.

He watched their magic intermingle. His human’s magic usually slid off that of the other humans he brought into his bed, like oil and water, incompatible. When this happened, he would let his human know in whatever manner suited the situation. He flicked his tail, remembering the Horrible One, the human with such black deceit in his heart that Scorpius had made sure to defend his human from him, all the while making sure the Horrible One knew he was an intruder and not wanted. Luckily, it was just the one night – perhaps his human was smarter than Scorpius gave him credit for. Either that or Scorpius had succeeded in scaring him off. Then there had been the one with the nice shoes. Colder than a night in February, that one. Scorpius almost felt bad for wasting such a good mouse on him. But it had been for the best. He knew that now, watching their intermingled magic shine like the Northern Lights above their sleeping forms. He laid down, tucking his legs under himself as he kept watch over them. Yes, he thought, this one was the Chosen One. He could stay.

Maybe later he would bring him a moth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, this one is really sad. My other fics have happier endings, but I wanted to try writing something set during the canon rather than post-Hogwarts for once, and here we are. If it helps, I imagine them meeting up after the war and finding love again with each other.


End file.
